


X Marks the Spot

by eirabach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Foreplay, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach
Summary: As it turns out, it isn't just the jacket he likes.





	

As it turns out, it isn't just the jacket he likes.

Emma notices the way Killian's eyes follow her as she leans forward to put on her bra, the little slip of his tongue as she adjusts the straps, the way he lingers, not on her leg as she rests her foot against the bedstead, but on the line of her underwear, on the slow rolling up of her tights. She notices how it makes his eyes flash dark, hooded and promising, how he reaches beneath the crumpled covers and his muscles twitch and strain when he takes himself in hand.

“You know, no one’s ever looked at me like that when I was _getting_ dressed, before.”

He hums, pushing the covers down so that she can see how he holds himself, two fingers hard around the base of his cock and the others splayed across his pubic bone.

“I find that _hard_ to believe,” he says, making his cock jump in his hand for emphasis, and she lets out an inelegant snort.

“Stop it. I have work.”

She reaches for her shirt, expecting him to sigh and put himself away, but instead he watches her fingering at the buttons, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and begins to work his hand up and down. She stops, her shirt half buttoned and her hair trapped in the collar.

“Seriously?”

He stops too, although she can see by the tremor in his thigh that it's not without difficulty.

“I'm sorry, Swan. Would you prefer I didn't -”

“No!” she shoots a hand out, and then blushes at her own demand, “No, I don't… I don't mind. I just don't get it, I guess?”

Killian smiles, and shuffles down the bed until he is sat on the edge, looking up at her from between her legs. He's harder to resist when he's so close, and she tries very hard to concentrate on what her father will say if she late to work again rather than on the temptation to rid herself of all her oh-so-fascinating clothes and sink down into bliss.

“My darling,” he says with far too much sincerity for a naked pirate with sin written in his eyes, “you are more beautiful than any treasure I've ever seen.”

Emma huffs and goes to step away - she's _late_ after all, and anyway she never knows what to say when he starts with the sonnets - but he stops her, his hand and wrist firm on her hips, and his fingers plucking at the thin nylon of her tights. He tugs her towards him and runs his nose along the barely visible edge of her panties.

“But do you know what pirates like best about treasure?”

She shakes her head, at a loss for words as he presses his thumb over her clit with unerring accuracy even through two layers and with his eyes fixed on hers.

“When it's hidden.”

He replaces his hand with his mouth, in a hot, damp kiss that sends all the breath whooshing out of her body and sets her knees wobbling. Her hands fall helplessly to her sides, and Killian pulls away just far enough to shake his head.

“Oh no, love,” he gestures to the open edges of her shirt, and smiles, “don't stop on my account.”

She can hardly deny him. Not when he's dragging his teeth across her until she feels like she might combust. So she fumbles her way through the rest of the buttons, pulling her hair free from the collar and tossing her head back on a gasp as he opens his mouth wider as if to devour her whole, even the dulled sensation enough to set fire curling in her belly.

Then he stops.

She looks down at him in disbelief, but he smiles serenely up at her, gently rutting into his own hand, his face flushed and damp and goddamn it her underwear is _ruined_.

“I thought you were going to be late?”

Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_.

She launches herself at him with a feral growl, underwear and tights entirely forgotten as she shoves him back on the bed and straddles him, only to be remembered for the inconvenience they are moments later as she grinds down against him.

“Off!” she groans, and she's not sure if she's talking to him or herself, “Get these off!”

“Now, now,” Killian soothes, his hand coming up and around her to smooth over her bottom, “you were in such a hurry to get dressed. We mustn't spoil your hard work. Although…” He pulls at the top of her tights, hard, and she hears the tell tale sound of a seam giving way, “there's always a sacrifice to be made.”

She rises up slightly, moaning as he follows the torn seam, pushing her underwear to one side and finally, finally touching her slick flesh. The noise he makes in return is almost unholy, and she looks down to see him wrecked and half writhing beneath her.

“You really like this,” she gasps out as he crooks his fingers just right, “the clothes thing, you really _really_ like it.”

He groans something incoherent, adjusting himself so that his cock is lined up just perfectly with her entrance, only waiting for her to sink down onto him. She smiles, something a little evil in the twist of it, and swivels her hips down just enough to make his eyes roll back and his breathing speed up.

“Tell me,” she says, a sudden burst of bravery coming over her in the face of his desire, “tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” he manages, swallowing hard, “I like the thought of you carrying me with you when we're apart. I like that you'll think of me whenever you do the buttons on that shirt. I like… I like…”

She takes him in, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his jaw twitches as he hisses out his pleasure, her own arousal stoked by the burn of him into something more urgent, and begins to move, a desperate staccato rhythm that has them both crying out in minutes, a quick ponytail for her disheveled hair and a washcloth all she has time for before she's bolting for the door. Killian watching after her with rumpled satisfaction.

And if later Snow wonders why she smiles, small and a little bit sly, when the ladder in her tights is pointed out to her, well. It's best she doesn't ask.


End file.
